


Like stars we crash and burn

by sarcasticfirefighter



Category: Doctor Strange (2016), Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Banter, Communication, Established Relationship, Gen, Healthy Relationships, Hurt/Comfort, Implied Sexual Content, Nonverbal Communication, POV Tony Stark, Panic Attacks, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Protective Stephen Strange, Tony Stark Gets a Hug, Tony Stark Needs a Hug
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-12
Updated: 2020-05-12
Packaged: 2021-03-02 23:48:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,200
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24145396
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sarcasticfirefighter/pseuds/sarcasticfirefighter
Summary: The Cloak of Levitation is a little troublemaker.Unexpected situation? Check. Panic attack? Check. The presence of Sorcerer Supreme? Non-negotiable.
Relationships: Stephen Strange & Tony Stark & Cloak of Levitation, Tony Stark/Stephen Strange
Comments: 9
Kudos: 97





	Like stars we crash and burn

**Author's Note:**

> If you want some soundtrack while reading, go for Depeche Mode vibes. The title (I never said I was original) is from “Happens All The Time”.

If you asked Tony Stark about it, he’d deny it as strongly as he drinks his coffee. Meaning, every day, over and over. Denial at its finest.

Don’t get him wrong, he brags about his inventions all the time. He’s extremely proud of his children - DUM-E, U and Butterfingers - in spite of threatening them occasionally to be given off to some community colleges.

That’s just how it is.

So this situation caught him completely off guard.

Why was it even—it was supposed to be hidden in the darkest depths of his lab and never been seen by any human being. Rhodey had seen its capabilities once and that was… a nightmare. But at least his ray of sunshine, Rhodey-bear turned out to only give him a few pitying looks and a promise to never mention it again (but only after giving him a fifteen minutes long embrace that has Never To Be Spoken About). Also, he was convinced by a _very_ compromising photo of him during their time at MIT.

Tony has no idea how it ended showing up in more visible part of the lab. Was it U trying to make this place a bit less messy? Peter? No, that’s impossible. If it were him, he’d never hear the end of it; the kid wouldn’t stop blabbering. Or, did he maybe do it himself in a working frenzy mixed with heavy sleep deprivation and now has problems recalling? Probably FRIDAY could provide details but that has to wait, he has Harry Potter and his Cloak over there to answer to. Damn Blanket, causing problems in the first place!

He musters the courage to look at the creation that sadly stands on the floor.

"OSCAR deserves to be _burnt_ ,” he finally replies because Strange keeps looking at him intensely.

“OSCAR?”

“Mind your own business wizard, will ya?” Stark says vehemently. It doesn’t come as menacing as he’d like it to be.

Strange only rolls his eyes and holds his hands up, as in surrender.

“That wasn’t me and you know it. I’m merely intruding. The Cloak saw—”

“How _can_ it even see?!”

“—something that piqued its interest. Then went exploring and brought—”

“Well, it shouldn’t!”

“Tony,” the sorcerer sighs, tired of interruptions. “You know damn well it’s sentient and does what it deems fitting at the time. You always let it do what it wants when it comes to your laboratory. Especially playing with your inventions and if I’m not mistaken… The Cloak found one. And wanted to… meet them, I guess?”

The Cloak which has been resting on its master shoulders motionlessly since their talk, perks up a bit, agreeing with what Strange said to its defence. Not that it needed it in the first place.

“Is it that bad?” Stephen pleads.

“Yes. No. Worse?” the engineer covers his face with his hands for a while, slumped on a chair. His whole pose demonstrates anguish and utter defeat. “I…” he starts but decides against it.

Then stands up rapidly. “FRIDAY, access full lock down for the duration of showing, involuntary showing I feel compelled to add, of… urgh, OSCAR.”

“On it, Boss,” the AI replies, the request shortly followed.

“Okay, some ground rules. And by some I mean mostly one: nobody will ever see or touch it again. Capiche, Magic Cape?”

The Cloak of Levitation leaves Stephen’s shoulders and makes some gestures, as if nodding. Shortly it twirls happily, conveying pure anticipation.

“Do you mind if I ask what the acronym stands for?”

“Occasional Support Causing Ambivalent Reactions. And don’t try—”

“Oh, _Tony_.”

If looks could kill, he wouldn't survive the pointed stare. “No! Stop this! Don’t even think about it, Stephen! I was _clearly_ drunk as I made it.” Stoned too.

And definitely in not right mindset, deaths of Maria and Howard Stark still fresh at that moment, but Stephen doesn’t need to know. He won’t let himself get even more vulnerable. His partner and Red might have surprised him with their non-planned doings but it won’t lead to anything more.

He’s Tony fucking Stark, genius, billionaire, former playboy and this?

This is _nothing,_ he thinks; not noting the building pressure in the chest, his breathing getting more and more labored. He can handle it. He’s the one in control. Unlike Howard Stark, Tony’s head curtly supplies. That bastard in mere seconds destroyed everything dear to h—

He killed her.

He killed _her._ He. Killed. Her. _Hekilledher!_

It goes like mantra, Tony’s mind spiralling, deep in overdrive, thoughts circling around his parents accident... No, no, it was not Howard but Barnes—the Winter Soldier responsible and he can’t… it’s—all of sudden he can’t take a proper breath.

“Breathe,” he hears it say but it echoes unnaturally strange and oh, so far away. “Follow my lead.” Why is it so hard to do?

“Slowly, breathe.” No. Nono _no_.

His frantic attempts only result in hyperventilation.

Tony feels like he’s falling and _suffocating_

**.**

**.**

**.**

—and there’s _water_ somewhere, salty trails and maybe it’s on his face? So he’s wrong, he’s _b a c k_ at that damn cave and they’re waterboarding him and his battered lungs aren’t getting enough oxygen and the panic is overwhelming and he’s drowning… He’s really gonna drown and die by the hands of his capturers and what about no, nono, not seeing Rhodney or Pep and Obie and oh god, JARVIS and, and then—

“Stark!”

—they’re yelling, the concept of mercy alien to them, trying to interrogate but he’s not gonna give them anything. He’s gonna push against it and handle it like a man, dammit!

“Just like that, breathe with me. In and out,” the clever brain once more provides with instructions.

He’s gonna fucking make it.

Not show his pain because Stark men are made of iron and isn’t it ironic that he and Yinsen built the armour to let them out but no, just him, then the desert and the burning sun, the cheeseburger and after everything—

“Tony.”

—he became…

Iron Man.

“In and—”

_He’s... Iron Man._

—out.

Alive.

“In and out,” Tony finds himself mimicking the technique, mumbling hoarsely along a voice he can’t fully recognize but they’re not stopping, not pushing to do anything besides breathing with them, bringing strong presence of someone who—

“Hey, you with me?”

— _cares?_

Bullshit.

(It’s transfixing).

He doesn’t seem to make himself respond, words lagging behind but he should, it feels _familiar_.

The genius blinks, tries to focus on that feeling, that person, a blurry figure of a man who’s talking about numbers (a scientist?) and counting. Tony desperately wants to see… but he’s beyond his gaze. Then, painstakingly slow, the sharpness of vision is coming back, his breathing somewhat evening out.

Hazily, he registers the dark haired man with silver streaks along temples telling him to count backwards from sixty. And it’s a piece of cake, why does he have to do it? Then instructs to subtract thirteen from one hundred and the correct answer leaves his chapped lips. The voice instructs to do the same again—

“Seventy four,” Tony rasps.

—and again, “sixty one.”

“Keep going,” the former doctor softly encourages. “You’re doing great, Tony.”

“Forty eight, thirty five…” Irritation drives him to abruptly stop the process. “Come on, are you insulting me?!” he blurts at the wizard who is sporting a small smile in the corners of his lips. It’s not enough to mask the apparent concern.

Oh, something clicked. _Stephen._

A bit reluctantly, Tony taps him on the arm two times. A signal, conveying the message from “I’m back” to short “yes”, depending on the context.

They are no longer at the lab.

Precisely, on the couch. During what feels like ages but probably lasts a minute, the older man acknowledges the safe surroundings of the penthouse. Trembling like a leaf, he tries to get his hands under his armpits to keep some heat but Stephen’s faster, reading his posture before Tony can even readjust and brings the smaller body towards himself. Tony instinctually leans closer and the Cloak flies to engineer's shoulders. He still feels cold but they’re both already helping. The worst is his piercing throat, like he ate a ton of needles and Tony tries to soothe it, swallowing down some saliva. It doesn’t really work, its dryness involuntary resulting in a coughing fit.

“Water?” asks the sorcerer then after getting two taps, magics the glass out of nowhere.

He drinks it like his life depends on it. Maybe it does. Nothing makes any sense right now.

“Do you want to talk about it?” That was to be expected. Stephen never beats around the bush.

One single tap; a refusal.

Sadly, Tony’s aware what triggered the panic attack but it doesn’t mean he wants to deal with it or anything for that matter. Although sleeping’s probably a lost battle. God, he’s depleted of energy to move. Maybe just leaning on his boyfriend till the end of the world would suffice? And weirdly, wouldn’t that be good? Probably not. He groans, burrowing further into Stephen’s torso, inhaling the distinct scent of pine trees, tea and old books that prompt him to relax a little. Tardily regaining control over himself.

Only when his traitorous mind is back on the right track, Stark starts talking again. “Why didn’t you make me, y’know, focus on the senses? Naming what I see, hear, yada yada? Everybody does that.” It was kinda unexpected.

“I felt that mindfulness wouldn’t help in that case. You were faraway gone for my looking, Tony,” the sorcerer softly says, rubbing soothing circles on the older man’s back. “Look... we can just ignore it, okay? I don’t,” the Cloak immediately pokes its master, causing him to look at it fondly.

The duo was in sync regarding their favourite disaster of a human.

“ _We_ ,” Stephen continues, “don’t want to add you any more pain, far from it. You know that, yes?”

“I, yeah. I get that. But I should—”

“Whatever it is that you think you should, you don’t have to. You are human. We let it go. I promise we won’t inquire about that topic. Víshanti knows I have my own share of issues. You tell or show us on your own terms or time. It’s also okay if you don’t. I won’t hold it against you, alright? Please remember that.”

He wants to fight it, explain that it’s not how he works and knows that Stephen does too; it’s not that simple. His body feels absolutely wrecked, fatigue tugging at him. “Alright.” It doesn’t seem convincing even to his own ears but for now, it has to do. Small steps, as his therapist from few years ago kept repeating whenever he got unbearably anxious and overwhelmed. Huh.

Actually, he’s not feeling that bad. That’s a first.

Stephen brings his hand to Tony’s cheek, lightly caressing it, rhythmic tremors deepening the sensation. “Hey, you’re getting broody. What’s going on in that beautiful mind of yours?”

“It’s amazed you’re such a sap,” he smirks a little. The sorcerer squints at him but before he can start protesting, the genius adds, “I'm not complaining though!”

Then, to make a point, licks his lips while looking at Strange intently and brings their mouths together. At first it’s more of a chaste kiss but the pace rapidly changes with Stephen reciprocating. For a while, both men get lost into the moment, tongues clashing, arousal undoubtedly arising. Parting for a breath, they look at each other in a daze, their pupils blown wide.

Rolling his eyes at him, Strange says, “You’re infuriating.” It sounds more tender than anything.

“I like the term of irresistible better.” He makes the show of wiggling his eyebrows suggestively.

“Tough luck then.”

“You,” a sudden yawn leaves him, “wound me.”

“What can I say, I aim to please.”

“Obviously not right now,” Tony replies sulkily, fighting against another yawn. “I’d prefer you being more into it. Less talking, more consenting.”

“You just had a major panic attack,” Stephen deadpans. “And look like passing out before actually getting to it. So forgive me for not indulging you.”

With devilish grin on his face, Tony stands up from the couch, exhaustion long forgotten. “Who said you’d be the one indulging me? I’m taking care of myself. You can either follow and end being deliciously ravished or not. Up to you, Stranger,” he winks at the dumbfounded man before leaving him in the living room. Just before that, in the corner of his eyes, notices palpable conflict written over the man’s features and the Cloak making wild gestures with its fabric, as if saying to its master to go after Stark.

Tony’s grin widens even more.

It wasn’t always as quickly as today when he got his confidence back; in fact, a rather rare occurrence.. Usually, after a violent panic attack and flashbacks, it takes more wallowing in self pity, clinging to his partner with additional cuddles from the Cloak and prolonged work binge on some project. Maybe Stephen’s words helped, after all. The assurance that whatever decision Tony makes is going to be fully respected wasn't something he ever thought he’d need but apparently he had been mistaken.

Stephen follows.

**Author's Note:**

> I saw a video and couldn’t get it off my head… so it became the inspiration for this fic. If you’re curious, check out [I built myself a proud parent by Simone Giertz](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=M1B3gATS0GE).
> 
> At first I played with showing OSCAR, really, I wanted to. It wasn’t supposed to be like what you might have seen on the mentioned vid. Similar, yet different. But then the next scenes panned out very differently from my previous idea. To be honest, I haven’t written prose in ages, not to mention fanfiction but it was entertaining. Apparently, when I do, I write about panic attacks and communication. Also, can you believe that at the beginning this fic was supposed to be light and funny? Instead you got something angsty, soft and whatever it ended being. :’)
> 
> Note that I’m not a native English speaker, all mistakes are my own. 
> 
> Please let me know what you think. I appreciate all kudos & comments! A quote of what you did like? Just to drop one word? Or to scream? A discussion? Random stream of thoughts? I'm all for it, come say hi. :)


End file.
